Harry Potter and the Parents Who Were
by WordyWitch
Summary: Lily and James were never killed by Voldemort, and Harry is growing up in Godric's Hollow with a loving family. Voldemort is still at large, but has been beaten back through the efforts of the Order of the Phoenix and the Ministry of Magic. A happy era between wars ensues - until Harry goes to Hogwarts and gets into the thick of things, as only this boy can!
1. A Good Year to Turn Eleven

**Chapter One**

"Harry, darling! Happy Birthday!", Lily called through the door. "Wake up, sweetheart! Breakfast is ready and Mathilda's been asking for you!"

Right on cue, the patter of little feet could be heard on the landing outside Harry's bedroom. The high-pitched voice of his three-year-old sister squawked, "Happy bird-day, Hawry! Happy bird-day, Hawry!"

Harry Potter groaned and turned over. He wasn't ready to wake up - there was too much uncertainty lying in the day ahead. Like most young wizards growing up in Britain, Harry had been looking forward to his eleventh birthday for as long as he could remember. It was on this day that he would finally find out whether or not he had been accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. On this day, he would finally get confirmation that he _belonged_ here in the magical world.

Of course, he had already demonstrated signs of magic. He had once caused enormous, chocolate-scented, purple mushrooms to balloon up all over Lily's garden. He had been particularly grumpy at the time, having been told that he must finish his mashed peas _before_ pudding would be served. Much to Lily's chagrin, the mushrooms had refused to budge and, in the end, the garden had to be ploughed over, totally demolishing her geraniums.

Another time, when Mathilda was particularly colicky, Harry had miraculously managed to calm her down when he accidentally filled her nursery with pink bubbles that bounced from floor to ceiling and refused to pop. Mathilda had quieted immediately, staring in wonderment, her hazel eyes wide and her little pink mouth frozen in a tiny "Oh" of shock. Later, when James tried to imitate the effect with his wand, he was unable, and from then on Harry become the one who was called upon whenever Mathilda was seemingly was also that unfortunate incident with the cat and the exploding water dish, after which no one had had even a glimpse of the orange, bottle-brush tail for weeks.

All this to say, Harry certainly possessed the magical gift. There was no reason to doubt it, and Lily and James had never even considered the possibility that their son might be a Squib. And yet, as children are wont to do, Harry worried obsessively over the idea that he would never receive his letter, and that he would never see the magical castle that his parents had told him so much about.

Coming from a family so well-liked and respected in magical Britain came with its burdens. Harry heard from people everywhere he went how brilliant and brave both his parents where. His father, the revered and heroic auror. His mother, the kind and intelligent healer. Both of them loved for their tireless work against _He Who Must Not Be Named_. Coming from this background, nothing frightened Harry more than being a disappointment, an outcast. And so, on the morning of his eleventh birthday, a day most children of his kind approached with joy and anticipation, Harry James Potter woke with a looming sense of trepidation and dread.

Finally, Lily's voice broke through gnawing, worried thoughts, "Harry! Come downstairs, dear! The bacon is getting cold!"

With a resigned groan, Harry rolled out of bed and into his slippers, dragging on his bathrobe as he went.

"I'm not hungry, anyway," he grumbled to himself. Since lunch yesterday, Harry's stomach had been tied up in knots. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he shuffled down the stairs and into the most important day of his life so far.

As always happened on special occasions, Lily and James Potter had outdone themselves in the kitchen. James was busily frying thick slices of bacon alongside enormous omelets of cheese and ham. Lily stood next to him, orchestrating the procession of buttery scones in and out of the oven with one hand whilst regulating the chopping of strawberries with the other. Mathilda had been plopped down in her booster seat at the table, drawing a picture of something that looked quite a bit like a scarecrow with unruly black hair and a pair of round spectacles.

When Harry walked into the room, Mathilda was the first to notice his entrance. She kicked her short, chubby legs against the table leg and started giggling. Harry bounded over to her and gave her a kiss on the cheek, and then turned to be engulfed in a hug by both his mum and dad.

"Sleep well, Harry darling?" Lily inquired.

"I'll bet he was too excited to sleep!" chortled James. "I know I was at his age! It's not every day a young man turns eleven, now is it?"

Harry laughed along with his parents, but could not quite bring himself to meet his father's eye. Instead, he changed the subject, asking his mother, "What time are Uncle Sirius and Uncle Remus coming over?"

Harry had spent every birthday he could remember in the company of his father's two best friends, and was certain today would be no different.

"They'll pop over at around eleven, sweetheart. I thought I'd ask Bathilda over, too - does that sound alright to you? Augusta and Neville had to decline, unfortunately, because they're still in Wales visiting with Neville's other grandparents"

Harry nodded mutely, trying not to show his disappointment. He had been hoping to see Neville today, knowing that Neville would probably understand better than most how he was feeling about this important birthday. The Potters had received news two days ago of Neville's admittance to Hogwarts, but for the longest time no one had expected him to be accepted. Neville had always been a bit awkward and clumsy, and somehow never seemed to bounce back the way other magical children did from little coughs and scrapes. None of that mattered now, of course. Neville's place had been secured, while Harry's was still unsure.

Lily seemed to understand some of what Harry was thinking, because she quickly diverted the conversation into safer waters; "You haven't even glanced at your present yet, Harry dear!" she called out gaily.

"Go on, open it", James chimed in. "My dad gave me one just like it for my eleventh birthday!"

Harry stepped warily over to his accustomed seat at the round wooden dining table, where a small, rectangular package wrapped in pale yellow paper was sitting next to his glass of pumpkin juice. He seized it in his hands and ripped the paper off, and then stared dumbly down at what looked like a pair of plain, slightly careworn mirrors. Harry looked up at his dad quizzically, wondering what was so exciting about a pair of boring mirrors.

"It's a two way mirror," James supplied. "Uncle Sirius and I used the ones my dad gave me while we were at school. We used them to chat during holidays, and whenever we were, er, made to… spend time apart." He glanced shiftily at Lily, who was glaring at him. He supposed it wouldn't be a great time to tell Harry about the many fantastic detentions he and Sirius had shared.

"I thought you and Neville and any new friends you make might like a way to communicate once you get to school! Plus, I still have mine. So, anytime you're homesick, you can just say 'Mum!' or 'Dad!' into your mirror, and you can talk to us!

Harry was now grinning in spite of himself. It made him feel better to hear how certain his parents obviously were that he would soon be off to Hogwarts, and he couldn't wait to share his new magical artifacts with Neville. Receiving birthday gifts always made him feel a little giddy, anyway. He knew that the mirrors weren't the last surprise he should be expecting that day, and that prospect helped him to buck up considerably. How bad could a day be when his parents and uncles were all falling over themselves to give him marvelous gifts? With these thoughts in mind, Harry took a big gulp of pumpkin juice and settled into his chair. Perhaps, he thought, he was hungry after all.

The sun was setting behind the hills that surrounded Godric's Hollow when the lively dinner drew to a close. Bathilda has spun yarns enough to keep everyone fascinated all throughout the meal. Sirius had kept Mathilda giggling with a steady stream of "Swish and flick" jokes, and Remus had reassured Harry ten times over that his letter was sure to arrive "any minute now". James's excellent cooking had all been devoured; every last morsel of steak and potato, every salad leaf, tomato wedge and crust of bread. People were settling into a contented quiet, and the real business of the evening was ready to begin.

Lily was the first to stand. Green eyes glittering, she asked James coyly, "Darling, did you see anything unusual sitting in the kitchen earlier?"

"You know, Lily, I believe I did," James replied, hardly keeping the laugh out of his voice. "Shall we go investigate?" He stood as well, and began walking back into the house. Lily followed, trailing her fingers through Harry's messy hair on her way past his seat. Sirius caught Harry's eye, and winked. Bathilda chuckled knowingly, and Remus stared determinedly in the opposite direction.

"What's going on?" Harry demanded to know.

His only response was a wicked grin from Sirius and Mathilda's delighted teasing.

"Mummy and daddy said no tell! No tell! I no tell!" she called out.

Harry had only a few moments to wheedle his uncles and sister for answers before bedlam broke out. Lily's high, sweet voice had rung out only the first few bars of the "Happy Birthday" song, when she and the enormous, green-iced cake she was carrying were sent flying by a hurtling figure on a broomstick. James, zipping into the garden, had misjudged the placement the huge sycamore in the yard and was forced to dodge it at the last second, ricocheting off his wife and the gorgeous masterpiece of sugar and butter she held in her outstretched arms. To cap it all off, an enormous barn owl chose that moment to flit off the roof and land on Mathilda's high-chair, causing the little girl to break into terrified sobs. The proud owl dropped a stiff parchment envelope on the table and then stretched it's wings, flying off into the steadily darkening sky.

It was several minutes before Lily had gotten up and brushed herself off, attempting to salvage as much of the chocolate cake as she could in the process. James, apologizing profusely, went to work soothing his young daughter. In the chaos, Harry utterly failed to notice the long-awaited green-addressed letter sitting by his sister's place at the table. Finally, with some measure of order restored, Bathilda turned to Harry and asked quietly,

"What's that by the butterbeer, child?"

All eyes turned to look where she had indicated, and with a great gasp, Harry seized the parchment envelope and tore into it greedily. He read silently for a few seconds before shouting out in joy,

"Mum! Dad! Look! Look! I'm going to Hogwarts!" His face was alight with relief and excitement. "I'm actually going to Hogwarts!"

All the adults sitting at the table beamed, although none of them were the slightest bit surprised to hear the news. Mathilda reached out a plump fist, demanding to see the letter, and Harry happily complied, entirely overcome by the excellent news.

For a quarter of an hour, everyone took it in turns to hug Harry and congratulate him. Harry couldn't help himself from repeatedly reading the letter out loud - not only the offer of admission, but also the entire materials list and the contents of his Hogwart's Express ticket. After the third such recitation, James joked loudly, "If Deputy Headmistress McGonagall can make Harry this happy, perhaps we needn't bother giving him the rest of his birthday gifts?"

This quieted Harry down quickly enough. He was, after all, rather excited to see what else his parents had in store for him. He stared brightly from one adult to the next, hoping for some hint of what was coming.

Finally, James burst out, "Are you blind, lad? Didn't you see what I flew in here on, anyway?"

At this, Harry ran into the center of the yard to where the discarded broomstick lay. It was not, as he had suspected, his father's Cleansweep Seven. Rather, a gleaming new handle emblazoned in gold with the words _Nimbus Two Thousand_ met his disbelieving eyes.

"Wicked!" He shouted, and he seized the broom with one hand while running back across the yard to bestow a huge hug on his laughing parents.

"Can I ride it now, mum? Can I? Can I please!" he begged.

"Best wait till it's light out, darling," Lily cautioned. "Then dad can join you on his broom. Oh, buck up, there, Harry!" she pealed, seeing his crestfallen face. "Moony and Padfoot still have some treats for you! And," she added in an undertone, "Bathilda and Mathilda are both looking rather tired. We must be getting them off to bed."

Harry nodded understandingly, and consented to wait until the morning. The next part of the evening was spent bundling Bathilda back to her cottage down the road, and then tucking a resistant Mathilda into bed. When Lily, James, Remus, Sirius, and Harry were the only ones left in the sitting room, the final gifts of the day were doled out. Remus and Sirius did indeed have a few more surprises up their sleeves, including a large box of Chocolate Frogs and…

"An owl!" Harry cried. "Oh, thank you! She's so beautiful!"

The large snowy female hooted softly, and nibbled Harry's fingers affectionately, clearly pleased at the praise.

"What will you call her?" Lily asked.

"Hmm… I'm not sure. I suppose I can take my time to decide, can't I?"

"Of course!" Remus reassured him. "Padfoot, of course, thinks you should name her after him. But," he glanced at his spouse affectionately, "you certainly don't have to!"

"Ha!" James laughed. "Sirius the female owl? Only you, Pads, would think of something like that."

"Harry can decide what he wants to name her" sniffed Sirius pointedly. The other three adults all guffawed at this.

"I think I'll just wait." Harry muttered diplomatically, and Lily grinned yet again at her patient son.

A few more hugs, and then it was time for Sirius and Remus to leave as well. They wished Harry a happy birthday one last time, promised to come back again soon, and then left the house. They apparated, holding hands, from the Potter's front gate.

"Alright, Harry dear," Lily murmured into her sleepy son's black hair. "Let's get you up to bed."

She half-walked, half-carried him up the stair and then helped him into his pajamas and under his blankets. James came in for a final kiss goodnight.

"We'll go for a nice, long fly tomorrow, son, alright?"

Harry nodded sleepily. He was already half asleep, his mind full of the promise of Hogwarts and his new broomstick.

It was definitely a good year to turn eleven.


	2. New and Used

**Chapter 2**

The last days of August fell upon Godric's Hollow in a cloud of mist. The graveyard had taken on a spooky, cinematic look, and the neighborhood pub was always full in the evenings with travelers happy to take a break from the damp weather outside. The Potter's cat, who had not left the house all week, had taken to chasing dust motes around the sitting room, knocking over stacks of books as his bandy legs sought a surface on which to land.

Harry Potter woke early on the morning of August twenty-seventh and peeked hopefully through his window curtains, but quickly crumpled back into his bed, disappointed. He had hoped it might finally be sunny outside, so that his father would consent to a morning broomstick ride. They hadn't gone for a fly in over a week, and Harry was anxious to get a little more use out of his new broom before he was forced to leave it behind. Professor McGonagall's letter had been very clear; " _PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST-YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS"_. Harry had asked his Uncle Remus what had happened to warrant such a vehement warning, but Remus had merely chuckled fondly and glanced askance at James.

Harry got out of bed slowly, unable to shake his annoyance at the determinedly foul weather. It was not until he had shoved his glasses up the bridge of his nose and caught sight of the calendar hanging on the wall beside his bed that he realized, with a great burst of excitement, what day it was. Tuesday, at last! Today was the day that he, Harry James Potter, was finally going to become the owner of a wand.

He bounced around his bedroom getting ready, dressing quickly before shoving a couple owl treats through the bars of his sleeping pet's cage. He then bounded down the stairs to the kitchen, where he found a bleary James reviving slowly over a large mug of coffee. Harry's mother and sister were nowhere in sight.

"Where're mum and Tilly?" He asked his father while pouring himself a bowl of cornflakes. "Aren't we going shopping today?" He was suddenly worried he had remembered the day wrong.

"Oh yes, yes! We are going shopping today!" James replied, assuaging Harry's fears. "Mum has to work today - Mungo's sent her a patronus this morning, saying there was an emergency situation. Apparently someone tried to drink an entire cauldronful of Felix Felices. Not pretty! And Mrs. Bagshot is tending Mathilda today, because I thought it might be easier for us to shop without her."

Harry grinned at his father, glad that he had thought of this arrangement. He loved his sister very much, but on a day as important as this one, he was happy to have his father all to himself.

"So, when can we leave? How're we getting there?" Harry demanded to know. "Are we flooing? Can we do side-along apparition? Oooh, can we use our brooms?"

"No, we cannot fly!" James replied, his eyes twinkling behind their square spectacles. "We are going to floo, but first we need to wait for Neville. I told Mrs. Longbottom that we would take him shopping, as well."

"Oh, good-oh! When is he getting here?" Harry asked.

"Any minute now. In fact," James shook back his sleeve to peek at his watch, "he should've been here approximately two and half minutes ago."

Even as James said this, a great green fire roared to life in the kitchen hearth, and a short, plump, blond boy stumbled out onto the rug, coughing ash.

"S-sorry I'm l-late, M-mister P-P-Potter," Neville Longbottom forced out between coughs. "I c-couldn't - _cough_ \- find my - _cough_ \- school list."

James flashed a grin at Harry, and then turned to Neville, reassuring him.

"Not to worry, son! Not to worry!" He said kindly. "Well then, boys, shall we be on our way?"

Harry nodded vigorously, Neville rather less so. He clearly wasn't excited by the prospect of another trip through the Floo Network so soon after his last one.

"C'mon, Neville!" Harry cajoled him. "Wands! We're getting wands! This will be so fun!"

Neville nodded, but still looked a little woebegone. "I'm not getting a new wand," he muttered. "Gran's making me use my dad's old wand."

Harry looked to his father for help. He never quite new what to say when Neville started talking about his mum or dad, who had both been killed in the First Wizarding War.

James jumped in, saying gently, "Your dad was a great wizard Neville, and you will be too, someday. I'm sure his wand will suit you perfectly.'

Neville looked up gratefully, and then, finally, allowed himself a small smile.

"Hey, Harry," he suddenly called out. "I'll bet they've got new Puddlemere gear at Quality Quidditch! And my gran said I could buy a new jersey if I wanted to."

"Cool!" Harry replied. "Let's get going, then, before all the good ones are taken."

James reached out to take the little jar of glittering Floo powder from the mantel, and then passed it to both Harry and Neville in turn.

"You go first, Harry," he said. "Remember to speak very clearly, now. I don't want you ending up in Knockturn Alley again! Lily would kill me…"

Harry stepped into the fireplace, dropped his pinch of powder, and was immediately engulfed in the pleasantly warm, chin-licking flames.

"Diagon Alley!" he cried out in a clear voice. For one moment longer, he was gazing at his father and Neville. Next second, however, he was spinning at an alarming rate. He tucked in his elbows and squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the spinning to slow and for the cheerful sounds of The Leaky Cauldron to fill his ears.

"So, where to first?" James asked the two boys. The threesome had just left Gringott's, having visited both the Longbottom and Potter vaults.

"Quality Quidditch Supplies!" both boys chorused.

"Okay, okay!" James responded, chuckling.

They arrived at the shop to find a large crowd of people at the window, gaping at the Nimbus Two Thousand on display there. Harry's stomach gave a happy squirm as he thought about his very own Nimbus waiting for him at home. Neville gave a little moan of envy.

"I can't believe you got one of those for your birthday, Harry! Gran hasn't ever even let me _ride_ one, let alone gotten me one for my birthday!"

Harry privately thought that Augusta Longbottom was quite right in keeping her clumsy grandson with two feet firmly planted on the ground. He caught his father's eye, and they shared a brief look of wry agreement before walking into the shop behind Neville.

Quality Quidditch Supplies was full to bursting with people, most of whom appeared to be Hogwarts students and their parents. From one corner of the shop decorated in lurid hues of green, Harry heard a short boy holding forth on the Kestrel-Cannons match that had taken place the previous Saturday.

"Did you see Lynch's snitch catch? Nearly pissed myself - it was sitting right under Gudgeon's nose!"

Meanwhile, a harassed-looking sales clerk had nearly disappeared in the crush of eager shoppers, all of whom seemed determined to get their hands on a Nimbus.

"Now, now, folks! I'll get to everyone, I promise. Just line up - that's it - and get your gold ready. If we run out today, you can put in a owl order! That's right, folks. Everyone will get one eventually!"

Harry and Neville had, of course, made a bee-line for the corner of the shop devoted to Puddlemere United merchandise. Navy tee-shirts patterned with golden bulrushes twinkled down from the high shelves, and the seven players waved cheerfully at them from large posters. As Harry watched, the seeker Benjy Williams winked at him and smugly brandished a frantically-struggling golden snitch.

By the time they had emerged from the shop three quarters of an hour later, Neville and Harry were both laden down with new tee-shirts and posters with which to decorate the walls of their dormitories. James then shepherded the two boys to Madam Malkin's to be fitted for Hogwarts robes.

While Neville and Harry were being fussed over by the shop assistant, Madam Malkin herself spoke with James.

"Will you be needing any new dress robes, Mr. Potter? I seem to remember the last set you bought was for your wedding to Mrs. Potter. Surely, a dashing auror like yourself is need of something a little more fashionable?"

James laughed heartily at this shameless pitch, but politely declined the offer.

"No, no! Lily and I don't get out much since Mathilda was born. And I still have my _unfashionable_ robes for any emergency occasions."

When both boys were armed with three sets of robes apiece - along with cloaks, hats, and gloves - the three shoppers made their way towards Flourish and Blotts.

Harry had only gone one step inside the shop when he was bowled over by what he took, at first, to be an enormous stack of spell books and frizzy brown hair.

"Oh my goodness! Oh, gosh! I am ever so sorry! Oh, here, let me help you up!"

What had first appeared to be a mountain of books turned out to be a young girl, around Harry's age, with copper-colored skin and a halo of curly, dark brown curls. She had been carrying, it seemed, half the contents of the bookshop up towards the register. Harry pushed himself to his feet and turned to see both James and Neville positively howling with laughter. He felt a dark blush creeping across his face, and busied himself helping the girl to collect her books to delay the moment he would have to rejoin his companions.

"Thanks ever so much!" the girl said fervently. "I am really so, so sorry! I couldn't see where I was going. I'm Hermione Granger, by the way."

She stuck out her hand, and Harry took it.

"I'm Harry. Harry Potter."

"Pleasure to meet you! I'm going to be a first-year at Hogwarts, and I've been rushing around all day trying to get my shopping done. I was ever so shocked to get my letter, because both _my_ parents are muggles. But I'm terribly excited, of course! And, goodness, overwhelmed. When Professor McGonagall showed up last month to explain everything to my parents, well, I mean to say, I hardly believed her for the longest time. But, she showed me some magic, and I mean, well, wow! I mean to say, I think it's brilliant, of course, but I never knew! Are you going to Hogwarts? Did you know anything before you got your letter?"

The girl - Hermione - said this all very fast, and didn't seem to need to breath as much as other people did. She was now looking at Harry expectantly, and it was several moments before he realized she had asked him a question and managed to pull his jaw off the floor.

"I'll be a first year at Hogwarts as well," he said. "My parents are a witch and wizard, so I wasn't so surprised to get my letter. But," he added thoughtfully, "my mum is a muggleborn, and I know she was rather surprised when _she_ found out."

By now, James and Neville had come over to see what was going on. Hermione Granger turned to both of them and shook their hands eagerly, telling them both the same things she had told Harry. When she had finished her little introduction, Neville looked about ready to take a seat and James' eyes were sparkling with suppressed laughter.

"Can I help you carry your books to the till?" James asked her. "Where are your parents?"

"Oh, they're over there with the assistant in the corner. They're a bit overwhelmed by all the magic, you know." Hermione reeled off. "But I'm not overwhelmed!" She added quickly, determined, it seemed, that no one should mistake her total control over the situation.

"Oh, I can see that you're not overwhelmed!" James chortled.

"What're you doing with all those books?" Neville demanded to know. "There are only eight books on our lists, you know."

Hermione looked Neville squarely in the face and replied, surprise and disdain evident in her voice, "You can't mean to say you'll only be purchasing the books on our list! _I_ want to get as much background reading done as possible! You never know," she added earnestly, "when something you read is going to come in handy."

With that, Hermione marched up to the portly sales clerk who began ringing up her purchases, shock evident on his face.

Harry and Neville found all the books on their list. When James teasingly suggested they each pick up a few more for "background reading", the two boys shook their head vehemently, looking so terrified that James laughed out loud. After paying for their set books, they left the shop and, looking down at their lists, discuss where they ought to go first.

"All we have left to buy is our potions making equipment. Scales and cauldrons and whatnot." Neville said. "Oh, and a telescope!"

"And my wand!" Harry added eagerly. "Don't forget my wand!"

"We can swing past Dervish and Bangs and the apothecary, and then we'll go directly to Ollivander's." James said.

Hearing this, Harry positively ran towards the apothecary, which was across the way from the bookshop. He absolutely could not _wait_ to get his wand.

Harry approached the door to Ollivander's shop with a timidity he had not felt all the rest of the day. Pushing into the shop, his previously unadulterated excitement was tinged with some apprehensions he could not place. The dim quiet of the wand shop settled over him, and he looked back to ensure his father was following him in. He was suddenly overcome by the desire to grab onto his father's hand, but he ignored the impulse. Wands were for grown up wizards, and he insisted on proving himself worthy.

James cleared his throat loudly, and Ollivander sidled into view. The old man had a cloud of cottony white hair and enormous, protuberant silvery eyes.

"Ah, yes. Young Mr. Potter, here to buy his first wand. And James! I remember when you bought _your_ wand all too well. It took, what was it, twenty-three different tries?"

"Twenty-six, sir." James said, grinning. "But we found the right one in the end. It still works perfectly for me."

"I think you mean to say, James, that the right one found _you_. Let me see if I remember it - pliable mahogany, eleven inches, wasn't it?"

"Yes sir. Containing a single dragon heartstring." James responded.

"Precisely. An excellent wand for transfiguration work, I'm sure you have found."

"Indeed!" James said, and he winked mischievously at Harry. Harry was aware that, unbeknownst to most of the wizarding community, James was an unregistered animagus - transfiguration was certainly one of his strengths.

"Well, today you are here for your son. We shall soon see what wand favors him." Ollivander observed ominously. "Ready, Harry?"

Harry nodded meekly, and shuffled forward.

"Which is your wand hand?" Ollivander asked brusquely.

Harry wordlessly raised his right hand, and a measuring tape appeared from the folds of Ollivander's robes busied itself measuring various dimensions of Harry's body. Meanwhile, the wandmaker was pulling narrow boxes from the towering shelves that lined the room. He muttered to himself all the while, and from time to time glanced back at Harry to give him an appraising sort of look. Every time he did this, Harry felt his blood turn to ice. He decided that he did not like Mr. Ollivander very much at all.

Finally, Ollivander recalled the measuring tape and handed Harry the first wand to try.

"Oak and unicorn hair. Twelve and a quarter inches. Quite bendy. Go on - give it a wave!"

Harry glanced over where his father and Neville had taken seats, and James gave him an encouraging nod. Harry took a deep breath and waved the oak wand through the air. Nothing happened so far as Harry could see, but Ollivander positively ripped the wand from Harry's hand.

"Not quite! No matter. Here - alder and dragon heartstring, nine and a half inches. A bit brittle."

Harry reached for the new wand, but barely had it touched his fingertips that Ollivander snatched it away again.

"Not at all! Not at all, dear boy! Here, try this. Ten inches, sycamore and unicorn tail hair. Very swishy."

Harry was allowed to give this wand a wave, and Ollivander did not grab it away immediately, but rather stared with his strange eyes glimmering.

"Hmm. No, not quite. But closer! We are getting closer all the time!"

He took the wand and then turned his back on Harry, apparently searching for a new possibility for him to try. At length, he chose a new wand for Harry to try. Almost hesitantly, he placed the wand in Harry's hand, his eyes wide and expectant.

At once, a strange sensation of warmth spread up Harry's arm. His fingers tingled as they gripped the wand, and as he raised the wand above his head, a shower of golden sparks flew from the tip.

"Oh, very good! Very good, Mr. Potter. Yes, eleven and three-quarter inches, cedar and phoenix feather. Pleasantly springy. This wand, Harry, has chosen you."

James and Neville had both clamored to their feet and were applauding Harry. Looking over, Harry was surprised to see tears of pride welling in James' eyes.

"Most excellent, Mr. Potter. A powerful wand for a powerful boy, I am sure." The wandmaker remarked. He looked to Harry on the verge of saying something more, but then thought better of it. Harry, curious though he was, was not eager to engage this man in conversation once again. Instead, he ran towards his father to be wrapped in a warming and encouraging hug.

"Good job, son." Came James' muffled voice. "I am _so_ proud."

James then stepped towards Ollivander and paid for the wand, placing the long box holding it into the pocket of his robes. When the transaction was complete, he ushered Harry and Neville out of the shop.

"Anyone fancy an ice cream cone?" he asked the two boys gaily. "Fortescue's is just 'round the corner."

Neville and Harry, who were feeling very hungry indeed, chorused a "Yes, please!', so the party headed to the brightly colored ice cream parlor. Fortescue, who had been friends with James' father, Fleamont, greeted them warmly and served the two boys choco-nut sundaes, on the house.

"You know," Harry said thickly through a mouthful of hot fudge, "I think I've finally decided on a name for my owl."

"Oh, yeah?" James replied, "What's that?"

"Iris." Harry said. "Like mum's favorite flower."

"I like it!" said Neville. "And hey, that sounds good with Trevor. Maybe they'll be friends!"

"I doubt it," countered James. "More likely that Iris will try to eat Trevor. Owls like her probably think toads like Trevor are tasty morsels! I would keep them apart, if I were you!"

Neville looked a bit taken aback by this view of things, and set down his spoon with a queasy sort of grimace. James chuckled, and ruffled Neville's hair.

"Harry won't let Iris eat Trevor, Neville! Don't worry!"


End file.
